The return of the Kirin Heir

Old Roots, New Leaves

Qing Village was changing.

Whispers floated like pollen in the morning air. At the well, in the market stalls, under the shade of the old almond tree, people murmured the name they had long avoided.

Jin Longwei.

The beggar. The cripple. The cursed orphan of the ruined hut… had healed Elder Ren’s son.

Some said it was luck. Others said he used a ghost’s power. But most, especially the elders who remembered the fire in Jin’s eyes as a child, began to wonder:

> What if he truly was blessed?

Jin paid the gossip no mind.

He sat beneath a twisted willow outside the village, shirtless, legs crossed in deep meditation. Morning dew glistened on his skin. The sleeves of his robe were rolled up to the elbow, exposing the faint golden lines glowing beneath the surface of his forearms—reviving meridians.

The Kirin Flame, though still weak, had begun restoring his qi foundation. Slowly, with precision, Jin breathed in the ambient energy of the world, absorbing it through his skin, filtering it through his cracked channels.

Each breath brought pain. Not the sharp agony of injury, but the deep, aching stretch of a body remembering how to live.

He welcomed it.

> Pain meant growth. Growth meant return.

A sudden rustle from the underbrush broke his trance.

He opened his eyes to find a girl standing hesitantly on the path—thin, no older than fourteen, with a tangled braid and smudges on her cheeks. Her name was Mei, the blacksmith’s niece. Jin had seen her once, watching from behind a tree when he returned from Elder Ren’s house.

She held something in her hands.

A bowl of porridge.

> “I—uh—I brought you breakfast,” she said quickly, eyes downcast. “My uncle said… it’s rude not to thank a healer.”

Jin blinked. “I’m not a healer,” he said, though not unkindly.

Mei stepped closer anyway and placed the bowl on the grass. “You helped Ren Yi. That makes you more of one than the others.”

Her voice was quiet but steady. She didn’t run away like most.

Jin inclined his head in thanks. “What’s your name?”

“Mei.”

“You have good manners, Mei.”

She nodded, then hesitated. “Can you teach me? To do what you did?”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

She bit her lip. “My uncle’s lungs are failing. He coughs blood at night. No one in the village knows what to do. I want to help.”

Jin studied her.

She wasn’t gifted. Not in the way celestial sects would measure talent. But there was something rare in her—a genuine desire to heal, not for prestige or reward, but out of love.

He gestured for her to sit.

> “Breathe with me. Like this.”

She mimicked him awkwardly, legs crossed, spine crooked.

He adjusted her posture, corrected her rhythm, and guided her through a basic breathing cycle. After a few minutes, she was red-faced but focused.

> “That’s enough for today,” he said. “You lack the core to absorb qi right now, but if you train your body and discipline your mind, I may be able to guide you further.”

Her eyes lit up. “Truly?”

He nodded. “Return tomorrow.”

As she scampered away, clutching the empty bowl, Jin felt the faintest tug at the corners of his mouth.

A smile.

Something he had not done in years.

> Even in this cursed little place, life finds a way to bloom.

But peace, as always, was fleeting.

Later that afternoon, Jin returned to the village center and found a crowd gathered around the plaza.

Standing atop a wooden crate was Zhou Wei, the self-appointed “mayor” of Qing Village and one of Jin’s most vocal detractors. Once a minor tax officer, Zhou had clawed his way into local authority through bullying, bribery, and loud threats.

He was red-faced and shouting.

> “We have laws! No one performs medicine without reporting to the village council! We cannot have chaos!”

Jin watched silently from the edge.

Zhou pointed toward him. “You! You’ve stirred dangerous talk. People say you wield fire—divine or cursed, it doesn’t matter. You threaten order. Come forward and be judged!”

The villagers turned toward Jin.

He stepped forward slowly, calm as a still lake.

> “I healed a dying boy. If that offends your order, perhaps your order needs healing more than he did.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Zhou stammered. “Y-you dare—!”

“I dare survive,” Jin said coolly. “And now… I dare return.”

Their eyes met.

Zhou’s gaze faltered.

And in that moment, Qing Village knew: something greater than fear had returned.